Gilded Dreams
by AntiqueSecrets
Summary: The Gilded Age of America is a time of monopolized empires and extreme wealth that attracts millions from Europe. But coming to this golden world of opulence and splendor is a Scourge that will leave perfumed bodies bled dry and the ornate Newport mansions set ablaze. Torture takes new heightened forms in the dance of courtship with cynical greed and burning lust ruling all.


A dank chill hung over the crumbling, neglected tombstones. The moon peaked out behind the grey, dull clouds illuminating only small patches of overgrown weeds.

Hidden among the shadows was a lone figure leaning up against a decrypt willow tree. The only light upon it from the lit end of a cigarette. A sharp wind suddenly swept across the graveyard, pushing apart the clouds. The moons cool rays fell down and glinted off the figure, showing a sharp shock of white-blonde hair. The man's pale eyes looked up as he exhaled as a long stream of smoke. The smoke curled around him like a dark halo before a new gust of wind seized it away. He took another puff before casting the cigarette away and stomping it out with his boot.

"Why are you sneaking up on me?" He said, voice clipped with a British accent. He directed the question seemingly to a tall statue, guarding a grave, whose face was all but gone.

"I wasn't sneaking." The statue replied. But from behind it stepped a man in a long black leather coat covering his broad shoulders. He looked at the blonde man with dark brown eyes that shown with long harboured pain.

"If you weren't sneaking then why didn't you just tell me you were here instead of watching me like a creep?" The blonde asked.

"Spike, why did you ask me to come here?" The dark man asked, disregarding the question.

Spike walked forward, out of the shadow of the tree. "Because, Angel, you've forgotten." A thick venom dripped over every word.

"Forgotten what?" Angel asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Forgotten about her."

It was such a simple word to end a sentence, but its impact made Angel's demeanor change. His eyes darkened. The wind howled around them, disturbing what would have been a tense silence.

"Don't you ever say that." He said, fists visibly tightening.

Spike strode forward, now closing the distance between them. "Imagine what she'd think of you now. Knowing that you forgot her. That you're letting the Slayer live. But not only that: that you actually love the Slayer." He sneered at Angel.

"I've never forgotten her." The darker man said, voice low and stern, "And the Slayer is something else entirely."

"No. You know bloody well that that damn Slayer and her our forever connected." Spike replied, his voice rising above the low howling wind, "If you wont do the job, I will."

Crouched in the bushes was none other than the current slayer herself, Buffy Summers. She was a pretty blonde girl, no older than eighteen and the girlfriend of Angel. He had asked her to with him that night the moment he word Spike wanted to see him. They were both doubtful that Spike only wanted a nice chat, yet so far that's exactly what had happened.

Then again, the wind had roared in her ears, heralding the coming arrival of a storm, and she had barely heard anything. But Spike's voice was now loud and she heard every clear word. Who exactly she was connected to? Spike just referred to some anonymous "her". Whoever this chick was Buffy didn't like having her fate being intertwined with anyone. Bad stuff always seemed to come from intertwiney fate.

"I wouldn't hesitate to maim you before you carry out the job!" Angel glowered back at Spike, his own voice rising.

"You don't even see the justice in it anymore!" Spike's anger was radiating from his body.

"It's the past, Spike." Angel's words were harsh, but softness and profound sadness had crept into his eyes. A soft flash momentarily illuminated the decaying graveyard before a rumble of thunder rolled about them. "I won't ever let you harm Buffy." He ended softly.

Spike let out a hollow, empty laugh, "Don't go all noble now. You've killed for your little princess before."

"Angelus." Angel said, slowly, deliberately, "Angelus killed for her."

"Angelus, Angel, Liam. It's all you isn't it." Spike dismissed, "The bloods on your hands."

"I'd die before I'd have Buffy's blood on my hands." Angel replied.

From the shadows Buffy had enough. There was no way she was going to sit idly by now as Angel and Spike her death. She stood up, dusting off her jeans, before striding forward. Right as she reached them the lightning once again illuminated the landscape and they both turned to see her, the thunder roaring for a rather impressive entrance.

"Brought your little girlfriend for back up? Or did you just happen to be patrolling this cemetary?" Spike smirked, eyes scanning between Angel and Buffy.

Truthfully, Buffy had never been to this cemetary. It was an old, at least from the 1800s, was never used. "Cut it out, Spike. All I know is you two have discusd killing me for some girl." Her eyes briefly glared at Angel, "So, I'd like some answers. Now." Angel didn't meet her eyes.

"Oh this is rich!" Spike smirked, "You've never told the Slayer about Her."

The sky splintered with light and a drizzle broke through, falling from the clouds and landing about them with increasing speed.

"We're done here." Angel said. He swept away, grabbing Buffy's hand as he went.

She paused in her tracks, blonde hair now wet and entangled in front of her eyes, and looked back at Spike. The rain slid down his jaw and his eyes held a promise of things that even made her shiver. Angels hand tightened on hers, finally, she relented and followed him.

Spike watched them go. Soon the rain swallowed them whole and there was nothing but the sound of thunder and the patter of rain as company. The wind whistled in his ears. He turned up his collar, retreating to the willow tree for cover. He pulled out a cigarette, cupped his hands around it, and lit it. He puffed on it and inhaled slowly. He would killer the slayer at any cost. He still remembered.

Angel and Buffy picked up their pace, feet running through the muddy puddles that formed in the rickety path. They ran into nearby shelter of a white mausoleum. Once inside Angel turned to her. His hair was soaked and water dripped in front of his eyes, his red shirt clung to his frame...She would have found him gorgeous if not for the anger she felt.

"Explanation. Now." She demanded.

"Buffy, later. Come on, we need to get you back home before the storm-" He started, but her eyes flashed defiantly and he ceased talking.

"Its raining too hard any how. We might as well stay here until it clears up." She said, sitting back on the concrete slab. Angel did not join her, rather, he moved to the entrance once more and looked out across the thrashing winds and rain.

"I have a right to know why I need to be killed because of some stupid little girl."

Angel whipped around and was inched from her face so fast it frightened her. "Don't." He whispered, "Don't ever speak so ill of her. You have no idea about any of this."

If Buffy was any other girl she would have nodded and cowered away. Instead she got closer to his face, "Then explain it to me."

Angel pulled back, expression softening. He sat down next to her, taking her hand in his as he did. He shouldn't have kept this from her.


End file.
